


The bargain

by ellamason



Category: Les Misérables (Movie 1952)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamason/pseuds/ellamason
Summary: Javert's justice is brutal, Genflou makes a deal and Valjean needs a good, long rest.





	The bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/gifts).



The flogging had been particularly brutal. Valjean had made the mistake of trying to put up a fight when they brought him back in and Javert had made sure he paid dearly for it. He was lashed for longer than even Genflou expected him to endure. At first he twisted in agony with each stroke of the whip but by the end he was hanging limply in his restraints, his whole body shuddering as the last blow fell.

They cut him down and Genflou, watching from the edge of the group, murmured an instruction to Brevet, who slipped forward to haul Valjean to his feet. He half steered and half carried Valjean out of sight as the prisoners began to disperse. Javert snapped an order and a few of them fetched water and rags to clean the worst of Valjean’s blood from the stone wall.

Javert, for his own part, didn’t move from where he was standing. His eyes were still drawn to the shredded ropes that hung where Valjean’s wrists had been lashed to the wall. No doubt he was still thinking about the curve of Valjean’s back. The way his whole body seemed boneless by the end of it. Perhaps he was simply filing away the lesson that, if only for a few moments, even a man as powerful as Jean Valjean could be bent to another’s whim by sheer brute force.

“It never lasts, though. Does it, Lieutenant?”

Javert stirred, turning his attention to the stool where Genflou had perched. His eyes narrowed and Genflou smiled.

“That poor fool Valjean, I mean. You can’t beat good behaviour into that one.”

Javert smiled and turned on Genflou, the prisoners behind him momentarily forgotten. He advanced, his voice dangerously low. “And what makes you think you know more about my work than I do?”

Genflou shrugged. “You’re no better bred than I am, and I’ve worked these galleys long enough to see it as well as you can. Better, perhaps.”

“Better! And what can you see that I don’t?”

“I can see you won’t beat the urge to run out of a man like Valjean. He’s too in love with the smell of fresh air, the feeling of grass beneath his feet.”

“Plenty of fresh air out there on the waves.” Javert’s smile turned nasty, “and you’re wasting my time. Get to the point, prisoner.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Genflou replied, lowering his voice. “There’s something appealing about him after a flogging, isn’t there? Seeing such a strong man subdued like that. It will do the job for a little while, I don't doubt. He’ll lower his head as you pass and jump when you call. But as I have already said: It won’t last. The next chance he gets, he’ll be out and away again.”

“And he’ll be flogged again for it.” Javert peered at Genflou. “What does it matter to you?”

Genflou straightened his shoulders. “You’ve put him in my work gang. If he can’t keep up, we all suffer.”

“Then make him keep up.”

“I do my part, but what can I do when you beat him until he can’t walk? You should keep your appetites in check, Lieutenant.”

Javert coloured. “These prisoners may be brutes, but under my command they are treated exactly as they deserve, no better and no worse.” He stepped closer, one hand closing around the front of Genflou’s smock. His breath was heavy on Genflou’s neck. “Take care you don’t forget your own position. You still wear a collar of your own. Perhaps I should remind you of it.”

Genflou lowered his head, raising both hands in surrender. “I meant no offence.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Javert snapped. “Teach your friend some of those manners of yours if you’re so worried about him. If you’re as clever as you say, surely you’ll be able to bring him in line.”

The words sent an involuntary shiver through Genflou. Javert studied him for a moment, then added: “Be warned, though. I’ll expect to see an improvement now that you’ve taken him under your wing.” He smiled. “Yes, I think the penalty for misconduct will be all the worse now that I know he’s being paid special attention. You don’t like the way he bled after six lashes? Think what it will be like with twelve. Or perhaps we’ll have you take them for him.”

Genflou gritted his teeth. “It won’t come to that,” he said. Valjean would take well to a little education, he thought. There was something underneath his sullen exterior just waiting to be awoken. Something in the way he leaned into Genflou’s touch after a thrashing. The way he could be prodded by a convincing argument. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’d better,” Javert gave Genflou’s collar a final yank, pulling him off kilter until he was stumbling, seasick, in Javert's direction. “Or it will be the worse for you.”

Genflou regained his balance, finding his feet and then looking up to see Javert watching him. He nodded again, unexpectedly nervous. One hand came up to rub at the place where his collar had burned against his throat.

Valjean’s body was face-down in Genflou’s usual place when he found a free moment to duck out of the guards' sight. His red raw back rose and fell with each heaving breath. Genflou crouched beside him, watching as a drop of sweat trickled down between Valjean’s ribs. “I see Brevet left me a gift.”

Valjean grunted into the wooden boards and Genflou chuckled, reaching out to palm the back of his neck. “Don’t try to exert yourself now, Jean. You’ve had a busy enough day as it is.” He shuffled closer, coaxing Valjean towards him until Valjean’s head was in his lap and he could feel every tremble that went through the man. “You know those brutes will never let up. Why go to the trouble of inviting their attention?”

Valjean let out a shuddering breath. Yes, Genflou thought. This one understood well enough. He allowed one hand to wander downwards, to trace the solid muscle of Valjean’s arm and avoiding the marks that were already beginning to heal over. “You’re strong,” he said softly. “But even the strongest of us can feel pain. And there are better uses for that strength of yours.”

Valjean’s lips moved soundlessly against the front of his smock and Genflou hummed comfortingly, stroking the back of his hair. Valjean had wept for a week when he’d first arrived in the galleys, moving in the kind of stupefied daze that would have drawn predators to a weaker man. His first flogging had taught him to keep his tears to himself, but a kind touch could bring things out in even the most hardened of men.

“You’re cleverer than you let on, Jean. But you never learn, do you? The further you run, the harder they bring down the lash.” He twisted his fingers in Valjean’s hair to make the point, drawing a low, shocked moan. Valjean’s whole body tensed, as if anticipating more pain. Genflou made a soothing noise, tightening his fist until Valjean’s head was tilted back and Genflou could meet his eyes.

“No shame in hiding your brains in a place like this, but you’ll do better if you actually use them. And I can show you how. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Valjean’s gaze was fixed on his, inexplicably vulnerable, despite his greater strength. And in that moment, Genflou could only think of Javert, his hand clutching a prisoner’s collar and his smile a little more feral than usual. He laughed a little, feeling giddy with something sickening and sympathetic at once. Yes, he understood Javert all too well. And Javert, poor bastard, would never fully know what he had in his hands when he laid them on Jean Valjean.

He released Valjean’s hair, felt that powerful body relax against him and almost cursed himself for the surge of affection he felt. Even after years at Toulon, Valjean was too trusting. And Genflou, who should know better, was too fond of him.

Still, a man like Valjean would be useful. And better to have him under Genflou’s influence than Javert’s.

“Keep quiet this time,” he warned, twisting his fingers in Valjean’s hair again. He pulled harder this time, his heart thrilling in sympathy with the racing pulse pounding through the body pressed against his. He hummed with approval when Valjean bit back a sound of pain.

He released his grip and Valjean gasped out loud, panting hot breath through rough cotton and against his skin. Genflou nodded to himself, running a soothing hand over the back of Valjean’s neck, thinking again of the way Javert’s eyes had lit up when Valjean’s body had twisted beneath the lash.

Perhaps it was unfair, intervening like this. Valjean would manage well enough left to his own devices. He would run and Javert would beat him and he would run and Javert would beat him, and sooner or later he would be released or he would die with his soul more or less intact. No one would lay a hand on him and he would owe loyalty to no one.

But wouldn't that be a waste, Genflou thought wistfully, His mind wandered back to the memory of Valjean's aching hot flesh pressed against the stone wall. There were more pleasant ways to ache. Perhaps Valjean would enjoy some of them.

“Good. Very good,” he breathed. And then, perhaps because he owed it to Valjean, he offered him something truly valuable. “Your first lesson, Jean: People here will always try to hurt you. You should never let them know when they succeed.”


End file.
